


Smoke

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, College Student Mercy, Dragon!Genji - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Modern Era, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:18:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: Mercy meets a bar tender who's terribly sweet to her, calls her princess, but worries about him as he constantly smells of smoke.





	Smoke

She meets him on a drizzling Saturday night, at the suggestion of Fareeha. It’s not a terrible bar, and the drinks and music are enough to keep her swaying through the night, but Lena notices the bartender eyeing her. She giggles into her pink glass before saying “Luv, go talk to him.” Mei encourages her softly, saying he might be fun to talk to.

His hair is neon green, even in the dim light. Dark, angular eyes light up when she approaches, and it rushes her heartbeat. The smile he gives her is sweet. Even more so than the fruity cocktail in her hand. A green tattoo of an elaborate dragon covers his entire right arm, and he shows it off repeatedly throughout the night.

Though her drinks are light, settling down in her chair carefully while touching her hair. The golden locks aren’t looking like a wild mess, and she waits patiently for him to finish mixing a drink for other bar goers before sliding down to the end of the bar. The smell of smoke fills the air. Not of harsh chemicals but of pure, fire. The smell of lava.

“Hey, princess,” he says, resting his folded arms on the counter, leaning forward. The light reflects off his canines, baring his smile. Smoke still clings to him, but it’s not the cigarettes she knows.

“Hey,” she says softly, putting her drink down.

They flirt, and talk. Genji, what a lovely name, has worked here for a while. Giving her name as Angela, he tilts his head in confusion and says ‘Angel?’ Sending her into an eye roll, even those pretty eyes can’t fool her about his mock innocent line.

It’s nearly two a.m. when she finishes talking about getting her doctorate. Already halfway through her program. He’s impressed, and it makes her blush when he sincerely compliments her on her achievements. Meekly she reminds him she’s still trying to get it, but with a wink says she’ll have it in no time.

It’s after taking a sip that she asks, “Do you smoke?”

He stills at that, hands occupied with cleaning a pint with a wash cloth.

“No, my apartment is right above a barbeque pit. They keep the fires going pretty regularly,” he speaks nonchalantly. His dragon tattoo gleams in the yellow light. “Makes great cologne though.” His wandering eyes finally return to her.

She doesn’t know of any barbeque restaurants close by, but that could simply mean he lives out of town. A long way to drive, but possible.

“Angela!” Lena yells, somehow getting to her without tripping. “Fareeha is making us go,” she pouts.

“I’ll meet you guys at the car,” she says, giving Fareeha a nod as she takes Lena and Mei to the doors. Her roommate smiles, looking between them before getting the somehow even chattier Lena and red faced Mei out to the car. The rain still softly falls outside.

The bar is nearly deserted besides a few men playing pool and one at the center of the bar. Playing with the handle on her purse, Angela looks to Genji with a soft smile.

“Maybe I can see you around sometime,” she suggests. If a one night stand is what he wants, he’ll be sorely disappointed. Through the smoke, and the smiles, it doesn’t feel like so.

“I would love that,” he says. “Be safe, princess.”

The name sticks with her for several nights.

*

She goes back two weeks later with Fareeha. The bar is packed, but she gets back to the same seat and finds green hair behind the counter. He beams when he sees her, and it’s only when the night comes to a close that they actually get the chance to speak. She stays right until closing. Talking about space and dreams and the ocean. He doesn’t enjoy swimming, but he loves flying. She asks if he travels a lot, and he gives her a subtle line of seeing family far away.

“Be safe, princess,” he says as she tells him goodnight. The red staining her cheeks stays with her all the way home.

  Fareeha is unsure about whether he smokes or not. They have yet to see a cigarette between his teeth, but the deep smoke scent isn’t lining up with his story of fire pits. It doesn’t sit right, but perhaps she’s being overcritical.

She sees him again, venturing by herself to the bar and its green haired tender. Unfortunately, it’s packed. Genji smiles apologetically as he gives her a light drink and hustles to take care of the rest of the patrons. Disappointed, but understanding, she turns to her phone. It’s not too much of a problem, it gives her time to read over a medical review to pass the time. Getting lost in the names of different aesthetics, she tunes out the loud bar. The drunk laughter and ricocheting of billiards balls ceasing to have meaning.

Still, through the busy bar and the material she should be reviewing, she steals moments to watch him. The balanced hands he holds to move drinks and liquid without spilling. The thick, cords of muscles straining against his simple shirt sleeves. At the thought of Genji without a shirt, red flashes across her cheeks. Ducking her head, she tries to focus on reading.

Skimming just to the beginning of the components of a needle, a body slamming against the bar grabs her attention. Two men, beefy and reeking of beer, hit the bar again as they grab at each other’s clothes. Curses leave their mouth as they keep shoving each other.

Standing up, Angela opens her mouth to intervene but their fight moves their way down to her little corner seat. The men oblivious to the world besides whatever anger has sparked between them. Stepping back, the thought of getting caught in a corner is the last thing she wants to happen tonight. An arm flails, and knocks over her drink all over her shirt. She stumbles back, desperately trying to get space between her and the fight, but only gets trapped further.

A voice cuts through the intensity, and Angela’s back hits the wall as Genji appears behind the fighters. Blinking as she gasps, a flash of green, emerald light illuminates his irises. Grabbing both by the back of their shirts, fury rolls off his body in waves as he tosses them like children towards the door. For a moment, his tattoo seems to dance on his skin. The bewildered drunk men no longer seem too focused on hitting each other, but the man towering over them.

“Take it outside, or I will escort you both out,” The threat moves from the back of his throat in a low growl. Eerily silent from the loud humming that once filled the bar, the men scramble to their feet, and back off until the door slams close behind them.                                                                          

Angela lets go of a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Pressed against a cool brick wall, it echoes the thumping of her heart.

“Anyone else looking fighting in the bar will get the same treatment,” Genji announces. Another bartender, a man with blonde hair, completely unfazed, continues filling a pint of beer. Must be another Friday night for him.  

At that, a rumbling of shifting drinks and murmurings rise up, and the bar returns to a slightly normal state.

Genji turns around, and for the briefest moment, smoke rises from his mouth before he carefully inhales. His shoulders move with the moment, and his eyes remain close. The beat of her heart has only begun to slow, but only by the slightest margin.

“Genji,” She says, stepping over an overturned chair and what was once her glass. “Are you hurt?”

  As she reaches out, he exhales slowly. Lifting his eyelids, his fists that were once curled tightly now loosen. The same, dark irises hold her, but the emerald glow is still imprinted in her mind.  

He lets out a tired laugh, “Princess, I’m fine. I thought they hurt  _you_.” His gaze goes over her quickly, before frowning. Reacting to his expression, she looks down to find her blue sweater soaked all the way down the front.

“Oh no,” she moans, already glancing to the bar for napkins but is startled by the warm touch against her fingertips. Genji’s hand loosely holds hers. The green tattoo sleeve ends at his wrist, but it leads her eyes back to its elegant and foreign design.

“I have an extra shirt in the back,” he says determinedly. He leads her to a small door at the other end of the bar. Yelling to the other bartender about needing a minute, he takes her to a small employee’s only room. A small, red couch decorates the corner, and another door leads to a supply room. A wall of jackets and backpacks take up the right side. Genji lets her hand go only to go to a green bag. Holding her hands in front of her, she desperately tries to control the blood rising in her face. The coolness of the liquid in her sweater makes her shiver, a good distraction, until he turns back to her.

A simple, black shirt with the bar logo on it rests in his hand. As she takes it, his trembling form betrays him. Concern etches the lines of her face as she drapes the shirt over one arm in order to take both his hands in hers.

“Are you sure you’re not injured,” she questions. From what she saw, they didn’t even have a chance to lay a hand on him, but he is perhaps crashing from an adrenalin rush.

“Princess,” Genji exasperates, “You were almost caught in a fistfight and you’re checking up on me?”

She doesn’t break her gaze. “You were the one actually in the fistfight. I mean, you didn’t really fight. You threw them halfway across the room, Genji! I’ve never seen a man do that before.” The light drinks and the previous excitement are catching up to her, but she refuses to falter now. “Your eyes did something…”

He stills at that, eyes widening for a fraction of second before he shakes his head. “Princess, I’m sure it was just the trick of the light.”

She bites her lip, looking down and thinking perhaps he’s right. It’s late, she exhausted, and was scared of a couple of drunk men hurting Genji.

“Promise me you’ll be more careful.” She whispers to the ground.

He quickly reassures her. “These things happen all the time. It’s nothing I can’t handle,” a tone of burning pride laces through his words, and she wants to yell at him for being an overconfident man, but she shivers instead.

“Change. I’ll be right back, princess.” He says, catching her gaze until she once again looks at him.

She gives a soft nod, and he exists out the door he came in. Giving her time and space to exchange the wet blue sweater for a dry, t-shirt, she finds it smells like him. As he retrieves her and takes her back to the bar for a sweet non-alcoholic drink, she spends the rest of the time breathing in the fabric when she’s sure he’s not looking.

* 

Lena jokes that she spilled the drink on purpose to get Genji’s shirt. With red cheeks, Angela furiously denies that accusations, but notices that she doesn’t plan on giving it back too soon. Maybe once the smell of deep smoke and sandalwood fades away, but it will still be a loss to not get it back renewed with his scent.

What is she thinking?

Three weeks go by, and a few of those nights are spent in the black t-shirt. A few times she nearly tears it off just to get up and give it back to its original owner, but her heart refuses every time. Fareeha notices her odd mood, and uses the term ‘lovesick puppy’ only once for Angela fights the very idea with fire and ice.  

It’s on a Monday night after an all too exhausting exam that as she lies in bed, remembering the green hair bartender, a thought strikes like lightning.

She could ask him out first…

*

There’s a local band playing, but besides that it’s less crowded than a Saturday night. More casual drinkers come on a Tuesday then people looking to get hungover the next morning. Angela drives up at 9 o’clock at night, black t-shirt pressed and folded neatly in her arms.

“Just a quick drop off,” she murmurs to herself. The idea of asking Genji out to dinner is fun to think of, but mind-numbing to even consider applying it to reality. Slamming the car door, a soft drizzle falls from the heavens. With the shirt protectively held against her body as she hunches her shoulders, she crosses the street to the all too familiar bar. The light rain drops brings back flashes of the first time she caught sight of his green hair and dark eyes.

The rain weighs down her ponytail, making it damp just as she slips inside the warm space. Automatically her eyes scan the bar for Genji, the green hair barely sticking out as he bends down to pull out a glass. Straightening out, he stands tall and focused. His lips parted slightly as he focuses on filling the drink. His arms move, and the t-shirt he wears tonight is green and straining against his muscles. From his handsome face, she looks away.

Breathing out carefully, she steps across the wooden floors. His head turns at the click of her shoes, and his expression lightens in glee.

“Princess,” he greets as she returns the smile.

“Hello, Genji.” She leans her arms on the bar, remembering the black shirt clutched into her chest.

“This is great! I’ve been wanting to tell you something. Though, I’ve never seen you so early in the week before,” he chuckles at the teasing, and she does to.

“No, no,” She reassures him. “As much joy as college is, that’s not why I’m here.”

The deep smoke coming off his skin rests against her comfortably. The smell has faded away from the t-shirt, and it’s part of the reason why she gives it back to him now. Blush dances across her face as she thinks of exchanging the shirt for the one Genji has on now.

She collects her thoughts, inhaling through her mouth as she looks down.

“I wanted to give you back your—“

“—Shimada!”

They both jerk their heads to the other bartender, currently poking his head out of the employee’s only room.

“Can you give me a hand moving the supplies out back?”

A sigh of annoyance leaves Genji’s lungs before he looks to her apologetically. “Sorry, princess, give me just a minute.”

“Of course,” Angela breathes, realizing that she is imposing on his work.

Slipping to the back room, Angela watches him go before cursing herself internally for being so idiotic. It’s been nearly two months, and he hasn’t asked her out on a date. Thinking of asking him to dinner already paralyses her lungs, and she shakes her head.

Perhaps she’s been reading it wrong the entire time… He’s been handling a friendly costume, just a friend. Not… more.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she shuffles on the balls of her feet. Part of her considering just leaving the shirt on the counter, but once again reconsidering for the ‘ _what ifs’_  dancing through her brain.

_What if he does think of me the same way I think of him?_

_What if he doesn’t?_

Indecisive, but settling on her usual stool in the corner, her hands ball the fabric in her fists. Doubt and sorrow keep tapping at her skull. Ringing in on the possibility she’s got it all wrong. That though he calls her princess, he’s not the prince.

“Excuse me, miss.” A thick, deep voice jars her out of her thoughts. Jerking her head to the source, a man leans on the bar beside her. Smiling pearly whites a little too wide and flashy pale, nearly sickly gray eyes.

“Yes?” She responds politely, already noticing the aurora of alcohol surrounding him. Her nose wrinkles, truly not in the mood to deal with a drunk man attempting to get her number.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you sitting here in the corner all alone?” He scoots closer, still eyeing her down as she shifts her body to face away from him.

“I’m not looking for anything right now.” She says politely, but is too impatient to find some way to say it lighter. “I’m flattered, but I don’t want you wasting your time.”

He hums in thought, before letting out a deep chuckle. “Oh, you’re not wasting my time, pretty little thing.”

A dark mass stirs in her stomach and she continues staring at the man’s too lopsided smile. Gripping the shirt closer, she straightens her shoulders back. Predators like to see fear and weakness, but she keeps her brow smooth and her face stern.

“Go away, I’m not interested.”

The hand on the one arm he’s leaning on curls into a fist. Angela feels her stomach clench. He’s more drunk than she thought. Getting off the chair, her eyes dart to a corner booth not ten feet away where a young couple chats. They are too interested in each other to see her tensed muscles, but a quick word of help will send them her way easily. He follows her gaze, and loosens up. Suddenly more aware of his surroundings through the haze of alcohol.

“Go away,” she repeats, shoving the words out between her teeth. He glares, straightening his body before muttering several insults under his breath and turning away.

Angela’s grip on the shirt only loosens when he slinks to the other end of the bar. Biting her lip, and looking back to the black cloth, she exhales unsteadily.

What is she doing here? Making a fool of herself? Dreaming of realities that should be put to rest? She doesn’t even know him. Only that he smells like smoke that’s not just smoke. His hair is bright green, but his dark eyes are somehow brighter. The kind words and flirty lines move easily from his mouth. Thing’s only he tells to her.

And he calls her princess…

She closes her eyes, just for a moment. Fearful and unsure and weary from going to classes all day. Today… it’s not a good day.

Placing the folded up shirt on the counter, he’ll see it. Just as she gets to the doors, the back storage one opens as well. The wind and rain howls away the beginning of someone calling her  _princess_.

Large splatters dot her head just as she steps onto the road. Huddling her arms close, and fishing for her keys, she gets to the parking lot. Already the sharp wind bites at her skin and whips her ponytail. Her hands shiver, making the attempt to insert the keys in the door handle all the more difficult.

They drop from her trembling fingers, and she swears in her native tongue.  

“Butter fingers, pretty little thing?” The voice cuts through the wind and rain, chilling her bones. Whirling around, the same pale eyed man is already upon her. An attempt to dart to the side is cut short when his hand snatches her arm. Strong, squeezing so hard she can already feel a bruise. Jerking her back against her car, he shoves his body against her, pinning her.

Desperately, she shoves his face away, but he turns his torso to throw a punch that hits her left eye. Black and white decorates her eyes as she slumps against the car, his body hot and too close.

“Shut up, you know you want it.” He purrs against her ear.

Alcohol reeks so close into her face it stirs her insides enough to make her want to puke. Pulling in air, she screams. It’s cut off in a second with an arm against her throat, pressing down and forcing her hands to claw at him. Desperate and wild, like an animal. Just simply trying to breathe.

The edge of her vision darkens, and the raindrops touch her cheeks. A soft goodbye.

Something growls, loud and powerful. It’s enough to stall the man cutting off her breathing. Then, in one moment, his body is gone. Slumping to the ground, her lungs expand and cough. Fighting for air, in and out.

A man screams, jarring her out of her haze. Pressing her back against the car, the gray light of the rain and night only provides an image of something dark in the distant. In the middle of the road, a long, serpentine body withers. From the top, horn like appendages protrude. A maw flashes in her vision.

Fire flares up, blinding her for just a moment. Gasping, and forcing her eyes to close (at least the one that’s not already swelling from the man’s hit) she fears of burning.

Another deep booming sound echoes, snarls and growls, and the man stops screaming. Clutching one hand loose to her throat, she blinks one eye through the raindrops. Trying to adjust her eyesight again. Catching sparkling green and an orange stripe through the dark, she squints. Two, ribbon like whiskers dangle from its jaw.

It turns to her, and she sucks in a small breath that scrapes against her raw throat.

Dark eyes brighten at the sight of her. Smoke, deep and burning, reaches her through the rain.

“Genji…” the delicate whisper strains her voice, but she knows.

Her eyelids close for a moment just to process it all, but when she looks again, a man stand before. Him, soaking wet in his usual attire. Like he didn’t just turn into a…

“Princess,” heavy breathing leaves him. Like he’s using great strength just to not scream. One more step and he’d be able to kneel touch her. Her eye aches. Her throat aches. Her mind aches from what she saw versus the man she knows.

“Are you okay? He… he hit you.” He stalls again, breathing heavily. He must see her eye, maybe the way her hand holds her throat. Repeatedly loosening and tightening his fists. The rain covers his raw anger, but it doesn’t hide the concern shining in his eyes.

“I didn’t… I shouldn’t…” He stops, breathing through his nose. For a moment, the smoke scent touches her once more. “I should have kept you save, princess.”

He finally stills, looking to her. Like he’s about to face another battle.

“I’m not going to hurt you, there’s nothing to be scared of. I’m going to make sure you’re alright.”

He’s afraid of her fear of  _him_.

Oh.

“Genji,” she struggles, wincing at the pain it causes her throat. He steps closer, and she reaches her hand out to him.

Kneeling down, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. The fear of the man and of the lonely night washes away with the raindrops. His hands form a strong barrier of warmth against her back. Promising safety and heat and smoke.

“I’m so sorry, princess.” His voice cracks. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Her one hand is twining through his hair, somehow trying to press him closer to her. Though the rain falls, his chest is warm, and she rests her unbruised cheek against his collarbone. Her chest feels wired, like water shot through with lightning.

“Genji…” she whimpers, terrified and scared. The man is gone, she knows he incapacitated him. Her mind refuses to wonder more than that.

“Come on, let’s get you out of the rain.” He murmurs gently. Moving his arms to cradle her against his chest, he leans beside the car, not even grunting with the physical effort of picking up the keys and holding her steady.

She knows Genji… but she doesn’t.

Opening the door with one hand, all without letting her slip, he holds her tightly as he gets behind the wheel. Like a child sitting on his lap, she curls up against him. Tucking her head against his chest and closing her eyes just to focus on his warmth and the one arm wrapped around her shoulders.

He drives, asking for her address. She softly gives, and he somehow finds it in the rainy darkness.  

The journey is a mindless blur, but they’re in her apartment. Fareeha is gone to her night classes. She’s safe.

She tries to shrug off that fear, of pale eyes trying to steal into hers. No one is going to get hurt, not Genji, not Fareeha. She chants it in her head until the familiar comfort of her couch touches her back.

Requesting the medical kit location, he finds it even with her trembling words. Kneeling in front of her pathetically bunched up form, he gently wipes away rain and blood off her temple. The man must have been wearing a ring to crack skin at the base of her brow. She didn’t even realize it until red colors the bandage in Genji’s hands.

Gently, he convinces her to change into dry clothes. Standing, and trying to hide her shaking hands by hugging herself, she quickly gets into sweats and an old t-shirt. With enough thought in her brain to think of Genji, she grabs the largest shirt she owns and brings it out to him. Cyan colored with the words ‘Baby Blue-tiful’ written over the front in cursive. He puts it on with ease.

Settling against the corner of the couch, she waits for him, but he hesitates away from her. Still kneeling on the ground. He looks to her, dark eyes flashing, and she remembers the green she saw. The teeth and horns.

“I’m so sorry,” He breathes out again. Seeing her bruised eye isn’t helping the situation, but it’s the worst of it. A small, barely black bruise touches her neck, but besides that she’s uninjured.

She still clutches her arms to her side, knees in front of her chest like a shield. Pale eyes blind her whenever she looks away from him. 

“You didn’t know,” she says softly, still feeling her throat flare up.

He shakes his head, running one hand through his green hair before looking back to her.

“I should have killed him, I should have immediately followed you out the door when you already looked so upset. I should have—”

“—Genji,” she regrets the sharp word the moment it leaves her mouth, but he stops his rambling despair. “Please… don’t blame yourself.”

He stands up, and she anxiously watches him pace her small apartment.

“How?” She whispers, and he stops to looks at her.

“How what?” Crinkled brow giving away his confusion.

The look she bares is enough to remind him of what she just saw him… become.

“Oh,  _that_. Runs in the family,” the soft breath nearly sounds like a laugh to a joke she has no part of.

He said he has a brother, and his family is from an ancient part of Japan.

“Oh.” She breathes out slowly. Closing her eyes for a moment, she rubs her temple, careful of the bruised eye.

“Angela, I understand if you want me to leave.” He starts quietly. “I just need to know someone can be with you right now.”

Lifting her eyelids, her stare could cut right through him.

“You’re a dragon, I understand now.” The fierce raspiness in which she says it shocks him still. 

“But I don’t care.” She’s tired and cold and aching and sick of not knowing about him. The green hair bartender who smells like smoke and calls her princess. A dragon.

“I still love you, Genji.” Her heart throws the words out of her chest, trying to keep herself together. “If you love me, stay.”

It sounds so weak and soft in her broken voice. Genji breathes out the familiar smoke and comes closer. He stands over her, bending down to kiss her hair. Gentle fingers spray across her cheeks, mindful of the bruise. 

“I’ll stay, princess.” He whispers against her forehead. Settling the fear and doubt in her as his smoke fills her chest.


End file.
